


we'll do the things that lovers do

by maidenstar



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Romance, honestly it's just lots of fluff and romance, kiss fic, snapshot type fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2015-07-27
Packaged: 2018-04-11 13:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4438172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maidenstar/pseuds/maidenstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She’s not prepared for the daunting new world that has suddenly opened up in front of her, right at the moment that Angie Martinelli had kissed her".</p><p> <i>these are the things you said after you kissed me (or, seven times they shared kisses)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll do the things that lovers do

**Author's Note:**

> this started out as a fill for a tumblr prompt, but i actually quite liked how it turned out and figured i'd put it up on here. as always, i'd really appreciate to read what you think about this!!

_**one.**_  

She’s not prepared for the daunting new world that has suddenly opened up in front of her, right at the moment that Angie Martinelli had kissed her. Kiss-dazed and starry-eyed, she doesn’t really think things through and –

“I think we might be squashing a loaf of bread.”

 _Jesus._ There are a million and one things Peggy wants Angie to know, and none of them involve sodding  _bread_.

Angie takes a sudden step backwards, for once rather lost for words. Of all the reactions she’d ever expected…

That was not…

_What the hell?_

Peggy cranes her neck to look sheepishly over her shoulder and Angie feels her mouth drop open slightly.

“I just… _we_  just…” Angie feels that, somehow, it’s even worse that Peggy’s talking about the diner’s loaves of dry, half-stale bread, not even the nice stuff you can get.

(That it comes two seconds after someone – a woman, no less – had kissed her, well. Angie doesn’t even want to get into that. Except, she kind of has to get into that, because she hadn’t planned the kiss and she had definitely never dared to believe that Peggy would actually want her back.)

“I think the words you’re looking for are: ‘you just dragged me into the diner storeroom, and kissed me senseless,’” Peggy supplies, now looking at Angie again, one eyebrow raised to a deadly point. She moves away from the counter Angie had, rather enthusiastically (and quite without any forethought or planning), backed them up against and, sure enough, there’s a loaf of bread sitting there with a visible indentation in it.

“Hey I didn’t  _drag_  y– ”

She doesn’t get a chance to protest further, as Peggy leans in, capturing Angie’s lips in another kiss, one so intense it completely stops any stray thought or fear still lurking at the back of Angie’s mind. It’s thrilling, exciting, and tastes sweet, like the  _L &L_’s lemon meringue pie.

 

 

 

 

 

**_two._ **

Angie has never felt like this before. It’s never once felt this good.

She didn’t even know this was possible.

Peggy’s hands ghost the length of Angie’s thighs, from her knees to her hips, and when Peggy swerves, teasingly, those deft fingers away from where Angie really wants them, Angie’s hands bunch into the sheets. _Howard Stark’s sheets_. The finest Egyptian cotton, so fine in fact that Angie would almost be afraid to damage them. If she could think straight, that is.

As it is, she can’t think of anything right now, except the feel of Peggy’s hair tickling her tummy, the heat of Peggy’s breath on her skin.

Peggy presses a firm kiss to Angie’s navel before finally dropping her face lower. Her lips find Angie again, and there’s not a single thing in the world that matters except,

“ _Peggy_.”

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _three._**  

Peggy wakes, groggy and slightly startled, to the feel of Angie’s lips between her bare shoulder blades. It’s still dark and Peggy senses it’s not time to get up just yet.

She makes a sleepy sound and hears Angie chuckle.

“You stole all the covers, greedy.” Angie tells her and Peggy relinquishes a grip she hadn’t realised was possible in slumber. She doesn’t remember how long ago their unspoken sleep arrangement had been set, only that it was a source of complete comfort to wake curled on her side, Angie snuggled up behind her, their bodies slotted together like they’d both been designed to fit like puzzle pieces.

“S’better,” Angie murmurs, rearranging the blankets over them.

Another kiss, this time on the back of Peggy’s neck.

“Now, go back to sleep,” Angie whispers, and Peggy can practically hear the smile in her voice.

It mirrors the one Peggy already wears, even as she drifts off to sleep again.

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _four._**  

The only possible explanation for the way Peggy feels is that she’s been hit by a truck. Or possibly three trucks. All at once.

She has the disorientating sensation of waking up in a bed that’s not her own, and that’s when she remembers the mission, and that one Leviathan agent that got a lucky shot in. She shifts a little, an experiment of sorts, and feels the way her chest is swaddled in bandages. A bullet to the torso if she remembers rightly, lucky it missed anything vital really, though if she wasn’t much mistaken she’d cracked at least one rib in the process.

Her movements cause a weight next to her on the bed to stir, and Angie’s head shoots up from a spot next to Peggy’s right arm. Angie is somehow alert instantly, her hands warm against Peggy’s cheeks as she peppers kisses to every inch of Peggy’s face.

 _She’s crying_ , Peggy notes dimly, as little brooks dance their way down Angie’s cheeks.

“Oh my God you’re alive. You’re alive and Jesus H. Christ I’m going to  _kill_  you Peggy Carter”.

 

 

 

 

 

**_five._ **

Angie’s lying on the couch, pretending to read a book from the library and she absolutely won’t budge on this.

“Angie, come on.  _Please_.” Peggy stands in the doorway, looking so earnest it breaks Angie’s heart.

“You say you know how I feel but if you did – if you  _really_  did – you wouldn’t be doing this,” Angie says, cold as anything. So cold, in fact, that Peggy actually winces slightly at her tone.

“You know I have to.”

“Bull _shit_. You don’t have to do anything of the sort.”

“They’re a real threat Angie, we have to do something about it.”

“I know they’re a real threat Peg. And you wanna know how I know?  _Because you nearly didn’t come back last time._ I’m sick of sitting around here waiting to be told you’ve gone and got yourself killed.” Angie wants to say more, has planned this out so many ways, each one better than this hollow reality, but her voice is threatening to crack and she won’t cry, she  _won’t_.

“They got lucky last time,” Peggy says, trying for levity, but it’s a tactic that won’t work this time.

Lord knows they’ve argued about this in the past. What starts as an offhand comment from Angie here or there then descends into a full-blown row. It starts off like the confessionals Angie used to sit through, except Angie was not asking for Peggy’s forgiveness. She would not be sorry for worrying, would not apologise for the way the idea of losing Peggy settles deep in her stomach like a sickness she can’t quite shake. They’re always honest at first; Angie is fearful and Peggy is genuinely torn, and deep down they really do understand the other’s point of view. But what starts off as honesty so often becomes lies, it’s words they don’t mean as Angie plays for guilt and Peggy’s pride takes over.

(They always crawl back to each other eventually. They etch their apologies to each other’s lips, fingers tangled into hair, hips rocking, thighs melded together.)

When Angie ignores her, Peggy goes on. “Angie I promise I’ll be more care– ”

“The only promise I care about right now is the one where you promise not to go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“Fine.”

“It’s going to be weeks, Angie.” ( _Remember?_  Peggy is saying,  _remember when we vowed never to part on bad terms? Even when parting means nothing more than sleeping beside one another without saying we’re sorry first…_ )

“Fine.”

Peggy crosses the room and bends to kiss the top of Angie’s head. It’s the best version of sorry she has.

“See you soon darling”.

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _six._**  

Angie comes home to find a familiar pair of boots on the doormat, caked in mud and God knows what else, and an old duffle bag by the staircase. The very sight of it makes her want to cry, because Peggy had been gone for a whole damn month, and Angie had spent every second of that time wracked with regret.

_If she’d never come home and that conversation had been the last they’d shared…_

Angie shuddered to think about it.

She darts from room to room, eventually finding Peggy sprawled out on the couch in the living room, half-undressed and dozing happily in front of the fire.

She doesn’t even announce herself (though Peggy almost certainly knows she’s there), Angie merely scans Peggy’s body for injuries before launching herself onto couch, falling onto Peggy gracelessly, the two of them laughing before they’ve truly registered what is happening.

Peggy looks so tired it’s practically bone-deep, but she still lights up at the sight of Angie. They wrap their arms around each other and lay like that for a moment, just breathing the moment in as the fire crackles merrily on behind them.

Eventually Angie draws back, still grinning from ear to ear. “When did you get home?!”

Peggy looks up at her with a deep, intense look that stirs something in Angie’s stomach, before joining their lips in a long, hard kiss.

“Right this second”.

 

 

 

 

 

 ** _seven._**  

“What would you say if I told you I loved you?”

If Peggy hadn’t spoken, Angie might not have noticed that she’d broken the kiss. Their lips are a hair’s breadth apart, their heads sharing a single pillow that smells like their both of their perfumes at once.

Angie tilts her head slightly and it isn’t a kiss, not really. It’s a mere brush of lips, feather-light and somehow more erotic than having Peggy’s tongue against her own, as it was not five minutes before. She can feel the tiny puffs of Peggy’s breath against her face, she can count each of the faint freckles on Peggy’s cheeks, scattered like stardust and rain.

They stay like that for long enough that Angie almost forgets where she ends and Peggy starts, long enough that her eyes flutter shut; tiny butterfly’s wings.

“If you told me you loved me…Well, I guess I’d say I love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> for anyone who's following my fic All These Neon Lights, I promise the final two chapters are coming!! And once they're done, I'll be back writing for this ship with my next trash au (bc that's apparently all I'm good for anymore.)


End file.
